Bad Flights #2
Aug. 27th, 2010 08:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jaceyThe saga of the US(less)Airlines, she is not yet over...
So on Monday morning we pack our suitcases, leave the hotel in Owen Sound and go and have one last breakfast at Boots and Blades (3 eggs over-easy, bacon, home-fries and toast) call in to see Sharon and Connor on the way 'home' (Steve is already at work but we said our goodbye's yesterday) and head for Nigel and Clarisse's in Toronto to repack everything for the flight out on Tuesday. It's a three hour drive with no major traffic trauma. Tuesday morning there's a modicum of last minute shopping. Hilary can't get those quilted red wellies out of her head, and she's made room in her suitcase. Brian reckons a few more pairs of jeans won't hurt. Then it's packing and weighing and re-packing until the bags don't appear to exceed 50 pounds each and we're off to the airport to return the rental car and get through check-in and American immigration and customs (they do it in Toronto before you leave). Everything's going so well...
However.., US Airways does it to us again. We're connecting to the Manchester flight in Philadelphia as before, but this time we only have an hour and a half. It should be OK. We now know Philadelphia arport pretty well. We should arrive at Terminal F, go to Gate 10, take the shuttle bus to Terminal A and then walk the whole length of the terminal to Gate A25. We clear US customs and immigration in Toronto with plenty of time to spare, go and get a drink and a Tim Horton's doughnut (Honey Cruller - highly recommended) and go to the gate early. The flight is showing 'on time'. Lovely. It's due out at 5.40 p.m. About 4.50 I go to the loo and glance at the board. Oh, bloody hell, the flight's now showing 30 minutes delay. Buggeration! Well there's not much we can do. It still gives us an hour at the other end.
The plane eventually arrives. We all board, strap in, settle down and then the pilot announces that because we've missed our timeslot on the runway we may have to wait for clearance to take off. We sit on the bloody runway for another 30 minutes. It's OK, the attendant says. We can still do the transfer in 30 minutes if we're quick. Our connecting flights (it's not just the Manchester flight, of course) have been alerted and they'll (probably) wait. Yeah. Right!
OK, 30 minutes is still possible.
So we're 40 miles out of Philadelphia when the plane get sent round the block again - in a ruddy great stack, bleeding off time and more time. We eventually land at 8.30 and our Manchester flight leaves at 8.44 from the farthest point in the farthest terminal. Hilary has to wait for her cabin baggage to be returned to her because it was too big for the overhead lockers on the small plane from Toronto. My foot's had enough by this time and it slows me down, so Brian and I start hoofing it as fast as we can, figuring that Hilary will be a lot faster than I will once she's got her bag. We get to the shuttle bus and start to load. Still no Hilary. The bus moves off. She's missed the first shuttle. Brian and I get to Terminal A and start out for Gate 25 which is so far away we can't see it. We're just following signs. They're calling all remaining passengers for our flight, Boarding has officiall closed but they're still holding the gate open. I can't walk any faster, but the gate is now in sight. 'Go, run!' I tell Brian. Tell them we're here. We're coming. Try and keep the gate open.' He shoulders his backpack and trots off. I see he's got to the gate. Good. They can hardly close it on him now. I come puffing up to the gate. We both show our passports and they say they're going to have to close the gate. They can't wait for Hilary. Neither Brian nor I make a move for the skybridge. 'She's coming. She's right behind us, on the next shuttle from Terminal F,' we tell them. 'She's a minute or two away at most.' I make a show of needing to get my breath back, but in truth it's only show. Brian steps out into the concourse to see if he can spot her. Miracle of miracles, there she is, haring down the corridor, wheelie bag in tow. They have to wait now.
And they do.
Of course, once we get on the plane - still shaking from the exertion - we've another half an hour while they load our luggage, but that's OK. I'm honestly resigned to having it follow us on another flight, but they load the bags and away we go. The rest of the flight is mercifully uneventful.
So on Monday morning we pack our suitcases, leave the hotel in Owen Sound and go and have one last breakfast at Boots and Blades (3 eggs over-easy, bacon, home-fries and toast) call in to see Sharon and Connor on the way 'home' (Steve is already at work but we said our goodbye's yesterday) and head for Nigel and Clarisse's in Toronto to repack everything for the flight out on Tuesday. It's a three hour drive with no major traffic trauma. Tuesday morning there's a modicum of last minute shopping. Hilary can't get those quilted red wellies out of her head, and she's made room in her suitcase. Brian reckons a few more pairs of jeans won't hurt. Then it's packing and weighing and re-packing until the bags don't appear to exceed 50 pounds each and we're off to the airport to return the rental car and get through check-in and American immigration and customs (they do it in Toronto before you leave). Everything's going so well...
However.., US Airways does it to us again. We're connecting to the Manchester flight in Philadelphia as before, but this time we only have an hour and a half. It should be OK. We now know Philadelphia arport pretty well. We should arrive at Terminal F, go to Gate 10, take the shuttle bus to Terminal A and then walk the whole length of the terminal to Gate A25. We clear US customs and immigration in Toronto with plenty of time to spare, go and get a drink and a Tim Horton's doughnut (Honey Cruller - highly recommended) and go to the gate early. The flight is showing 'on time'. Lovely. It's due out at 5.40 p.m. About 4.50 I go to the loo and glance at the board. Oh, bloody hell, the flight's now showing 30 minutes delay. Buggeration! Well there's not much we can do. It still gives us an hour at the other end.
The plane eventually arrives. We all board, strap in, settle down and then the pilot announces that because we've missed our timeslot on the runway we may have to wait for clearance to take off. We sit on the bloody runway for another 30 minutes. It's OK, the attendant says. We can still do the transfer in 30 minutes if we're quick. Our connecting flights (it's not just the Manchester flight, of course) have been alerted and they'll (probably) wait. Yeah. Right!
OK, 30 minutes is still possible.
So we're 40 miles out of Philadelphia when the plane get sent round the block again - in a ruddy great stack, bleeding off time and more time. We eventually land at 8.30 and our Manchester flight leaves at 8.44 from the farthest point in the farthest terminal. Hilary has to wait for her cabin baggage to be returned to her because it was too big for the overhead lockers on the small plane from Toronto. My foot's had enough by this time and it slows me down, so Brian and I start hoofing it as fast as we can, figuring that Hilary will be a lot faster than I will once she's got her bag. We get to the shuttle bus and start to load. Still no Hilary. The bus moves off. She's missed the first shuttle. Brian and I get to Terminal A and start out for Gate 25 which is so far away we can't see it. We're just following signs. They're calling all remaining passengers for our flight, Boarding has officiall closed but they're still holding the gate open. I can't walk any faster, but the gate is now in sight. 'Go, run!' I tell Brian. Tell them we're here. We're coming. Try and keep the gate open.' He shoulders his backpack and trots off. I see he's got to the gate. Good. They can hardly close it on him now. I come puffing up to the gate. We both show our passports and they say they're going to have to close the gate. They can't wait for Hilary. Neither Brian nor I make a move for the skybridge. 'She's coming. She's right behind us, on the next shuttle from Terminal F,' we tell them. 'She's a minute or two away at most.' I make a show of needing to get my breath back, but in truth it's only show. Brian steps out into the concourse to see if he can spot her. Miracle of miracles, there she is, haring down the corridor, wheelie bag in tow. They have to wait now.
And they do.
Of course, once we get on the plane - still shaking from the exertion - we've another half an hour while they load our luggage, but that's OK. I'm honestly resigned to having it follow us on another flight, but they load the bags and away we go. The rest of the flight is mercifully uneventful.
